Death's Reach, page 14
part #2 of Hungry Gods Series
She couldn’t return to them, even though she knew they were still alive. They weren’t her parents anymore, they’d been changed into something else.
She was pretty sure they weren’t the same.
Doubt often crept into her thoughts of them. Her father had only done what he thought had been best for their family. Maybe what she’d seen hadn’t been the truth. Maybe he’d known what he was doing for them. He had never been a man to make mistakes. Thinking back, she wondered if perhaps she hadn’t overreacted. All of the fear, the murder in the streets, the separation from Dorian – she’d reacted like a scared, lovesick little girl, and now she was miles from her home and had lost everything.
Maybe I can go home. The idea teased her, and though she’d thought it often enough, she hadn’t considered being able to truly return. Maybe they were there, waiting for her to come to her senses. Maybe they were searching, worrying for her, their prodigal daughter.
She hadn’t shared her thoughts with the others, they would try to talk her out of it. Their only course of action, ever, was to fight. There were other ways to beat things, if you stepped back and examined the situation from another angle.
She grabbed her cloak and left their tower. The cold wind struck her immediately, taking her breath away. There were less people on the street, driven indoors as the storm grew worse. Her parents would be sitting in their townhouse in front of a fire, warm and safe, waiting out the horrors for the world to rebalance itself.
She stopped a man and asked for directions. He knew exactly where her destination was. She thanked him and headed down the street.
She thought briefly of Taegar. She did like him, and if she’d never met Dorian, she could’ve even let herself love him. She thought, with Dorian gone, that she still could come to feel more, but after kissing him she realized she wasn’t ready, and might not be for some time.
The stranger’s guidance led her true, to a small tower with a banner hanging from the front door. The black banner had the sigil of a jawless human skull of white, the symbol of the god of Undeath. A large man stood at the door, oblivious to the cold. He opened the door for her as she approached.
“Welcome to salvation,” he said.
Would they still welcome her if they suspected she had been part of the effort to stop their god? Did they even know that he was dead, ripped to shreds by an imprisoned ancient evil?
The same evil that had killed Dorian.
The room was a single chamber, with rows of pews much like a temple, and at the front an old woman stood not on a podium, but down among those that had come to hear her. Lara held back, seeing the hope they placed in her. She was the delegate for the worm-eaters, those that possessed the slimy things that had given her parents peace.
Lara had known instantly how people could survive outside the walls of the city, among the zombies. She had seen it for herself. They were here too, preparing for the end, just as her father had back in Briar’s End.
Others stood behind the old woman, with the calm expression of those that had taken the worms. The fear was not present in their expressions. They had the security that they would not be harmed by the undead, perhaps not even by the gods.
She wanted that, to not be afraid anymore, to be able to sleep at night without worrying that something with a rotting face would be hovering over her when she opened her eyes, and to find everyone she knew and loved dead.
She would be the first. She wouldn’t ask the others to do this until she knew for herself. Then she could go home.
She walked through the crowd, excusing herself as she went. Many of them were not yet ready for the worm, she could see their revulsion warring with the cost of peace of mind. A small group of three each picked up one of the familiar looking worms from a bowl the woman proffered. There was some hesitation. Lara watched, enrapt, as they took their slimy sacrament.
The revulsion on their faces when the worm first struck their tongue was replaced an instant later with the calmness of the worm-eaters. The worry disappeared, along with any hints of fear. They took their place with the others at the back of the chamber.
“The end is coming,” the woman said, “But you do not have to fear it. Those that put their faith in Skul will live to see the new world, born from the ashes of the dead. You do not have to fear, the master has shown us a way to the new kingdom. He commands the dead, he has dominion over them, and will protect you if you take his gift. It is a simple offering, of the most base of creatures, and through the worm Skul will see you as his, and the dead shall pass you by.”
The god of undeath was dead, yet his worms still protected them.
The old woman looked up as Lara approached. “Are you ready for the gift of Skul?”
Lara didn’t trust herself to speak, so she nodded. The woman extended the bowl. The worms were more like maggots, white and squirming, lying in a bath of white mucus. Her stomach recoiled, and she felt her breakfast threaten to rise.
If this was the price for peace, she could do it.
She had to.
Lara reached into the bowl, grabbing a thin one. She didn’t trust the fat ones. The memory of the taste came back to her mind – foul, of rot and dirt. She hadn’t given it a chance. This woman, and those behind her, though odd, possessed the serenity she desired.
Yes, I can do this.
The thing squirmed, becoming more active in the warmth of her palm, eager for its fate. The woman watched her, expectant. Her mouth was open in anticipation, as though it was she that was going to eat it. The old woman’s tongue licked her lips, leaving them wet and glistening, slimy, like the worms.
I’m seeing things. She raised the maggot to her mouth.
The door opened, letting in a burst of icy wind. She almost threw the worm in, but paused. Just another excuse to put off eating it. She turned to see guards entering. Their eyes were on her.
She dropped the worm into her pouch as the lead guard reached for her arm.
CHAPTER 27
Theondrin stood on the top of a tower as white as bleached bone. So fitting, he thought, as though it waited for its destiny to be realized. Just like him.
Nearby, Lillena crouched over a corpse of one of his council. They were scattered across the blackened floor, all of them dead. Not one had accepted his offer, and they even had the audacity to attack him on sight. Sure, he didn’t look the same, but they should’ve sensed the power. That had not changed. He could have saved them, and made them gods. They all could’ve been like him, every one.
The alternative was just as good. The future world had just become a little less crowded.
Lillena looked up at him and smiled, a chunk of meat falling from her mouth and her obscene grimace. She’d quit eating like a hog at a trough and now used her hands to rip chunks from the corpses as she moved from one to the next. She was incredible, not anything like him, and almost a different creature. He didn’t hunger the same. Yes, he craved raw bleeding tissue, but the power satiated him. Perhaps it came from missing most of his flesh and organs. What good would it do? There would be no nourishment, it would spill out of his jawbone.
Lillena though, she ate insatiably. She could not get enough. Her belly had swelled to the point where he feared she would pop, and what then? He did not try to temper her, if gluttony was her nature, then so be it.
He moved to the balcony, staring out over his city. Would anyone accept what he’d become? Did none of them share his vision?
He’d sent out a telepathic order to his guards to bring in the new refugees. They were used to him sending orders in such a way, he was often too busy to meet with anyone directly, except as necessary. It would be time to question them soon. He’d dismissed their wild claims about the gods too quickly. His new power was but a stepping stone.
The city no longer looked the same, buried as it was beneath the falling snow. If the gods looked down upon him now, they would not see a man bending at the knees. He would challenge them, meet them on a level playing field. If they were dead like him, he would tear them apart. Perhaps he could now crack open the Watcher, just to see what would spill out.
CHAPTER 28
Lysa walked out the door and into the horde of undead. They shuffled past her, oblivious. To her new eyesight, she could see dark energy within them, and simply allowed the Darkness sorcery to imitate it. None paid her any attention.
Vichak stumbled along with her, eyes wide in shock. He feared her, but he feared being alone far worse. That shouldn’t have come as a surprise to her, with his only other alternative to be eaten, but she expected him to flee. He didn’t. She extended her sorcery to include him. As long as he stayed near her, he’d be safe. She couldn’t watch over him and search for her brother too. He’d have to keep up.
Everything she’d believed about the world had been turned on end. She’d always depended on adults to take care of her. She’d lost those that had put her safety first, both her parents and her brothers. When she’d turned to her remaining friends, they were more absorbed in their own problems. She was on her own. And she didn’t care.
Even her brothers needed her. They sure weren’t getting any help from the others. Her family had never been ones to sit around, and she wouldn’t either.
Even if she had to take care of the adults.
Lysa stopped and placed her hands on her hips and turned to face Vichak. She could tell how uncomfortable she made him, he could hardly look at her for more than a few seconds. She would use it to her advantage. “Where is he?” She didn’t need to tell him who.
“We tossed him out with the others,” he said. He gestured at the crowd of zombies shambling about. “I don’t know where he went.” The wizard’s hands shook as though he were affected with palsy. His eyes followed the zombies as though he couldn’t believe they weren’t attacking. “He’s not your brother anymore. Theondrin made him a monster.”
“It doesn’t matter. I can bring him back.”
More and more zombies filled the street. They were gathering at the wall, focusing on a single spot.
“What are they doing?” she asked.
The wizard squinted, trying to see through the crowd. Then his eyes widened in comprehension. “Caridan.”
“What does that mean?”
“They’re… eating him off the wall.”
“Oh.” She didn’t really know what he meant, but she didn’t have time to find out.
Lysa let the magic sweep her up until she floated a foot over the heads of the dead. She scanned the crowd, searching for Mykel. The first thing she saw was what Vichak had referred to as Caridan. There was some type of goo on the wall the zombies appeared to be drawn to. They were licking and chewing it off the wall. Those feeding also appeared to be absorbing magic from it, much like the others had, from the necromancers’ spells. It didn’t matter, Mykel wasn’t among them.
She continued scanning the horde, looking for his familiar face.
There, across the street.
Mykel crouched on the porch, like an angry gargoyle. His face was contorted with rage and his body trembled, but he otherwise hadn’t joined the others. More blood coated his chin and neck. He needed her more and more. Every time they were separated he became a monster again.
She floated through the dead, not bothering to see if Vichak followed her or not. Like the other zombies, Mykel didn’t see her at first, even when she dropped down in front of him.
“Mykel?”
He looked up, eyes focusing beyond her as though she were invisible.
“It’s me,” she continued, “Your sister? Lysa? Look at me, I’m right here.”
“This isn’t a good idea,” Vichak muttered.
She ignored the wizard and reached out and took her brother’s chin in her small hands, forcing him to look directly at her. His eyes darted about as his jaws snapped at the air. Lysa put her face to his, nose to nose. “Please, see me.”
His eyes focused, and his eyes dilated in recognition. He couldn’t both see her and be a mindless zombie. Her brother won over the monster.
“Hey,” he said.
She threw her arms about him, heedless of the blood. “You scared me.”
He embraced her. “Sorry. It’s getting harder.”
“It’s okay, I’ll always be there for you.”
“I know you will,” he said, “But when it gets too bad, you might have to let me go.”
“I’ll never let you go.”
Mykel smiled and stood, sweeping her up in his arms. Lysa rested her head against his chest. It felt good to have him back. She would clean him up as soon as they got back to the others.
Mykel snarled. She realized that he saw Vichak. His eyes narrowed, and the shadow of his hungry rage crept back into his features.
“It’s okay,” Lysa aid hurriedly, “I saved him.”
“If you betray her,” Mykel said to the wizard, “I will kill you.”
Vichak nodded. “I wouldn’t. I won’t.”
Satisfied the man understood his place, Mykel turned his attention back to her. “Where to?”
“Away from the wall. I think something bad is about to happen.”
“Away?” Vichak looked as though he were reconsidering his options. “We’d be safer on the other side.”
Lysa and Mykel ignored him. Her brother didn’t question her. They moved through the street, the horde of undead parting to allow them passage. With one last look back in longing, Vichak followed. She almost wished he would leave. His presence angered her brother. She didn’t need that working against her.
She wasn’t sure how long they had, only that they needed to get as far away as possible. She could see the energies coalescing in the dead, and knew what the consequence would be.
They had cleared two blocks from the wall when the explosion came. Over Mykel’s shoulder she saw stone thrown into the air, impossibly high, blocking out the sight of the tallest towers with a cloud of dust and blue flame.
Stunned, Vichak stared at the chain of explosions coming their way. Mykel saw the wave of destruction spilling down the street and ran for the shelter of a building even as the first of many large stones began to fall from the sky. Vichak pulled himself out of his shock and ran after them.
Giant slabs of broken rock tore through the buildings, but Mykel had chosen well. The house he’d taken shelter against was made of thick stone, protecting them from some of the smaller projectiles, though she heard the roof cave in. Luck protected them further.
They were far enough from the wall that the dead were less charged by magic. They did not explode, though many were crushed. The explosion summoned them from across the quarter to the new hole in the wall like moths to the torch.
The ground continued to tremble, as though the explosions had awakened it.
CHAPTER 29
The zombies spilling into Levia met with resistance from the city’s guard. Though only alerted by the explosion, they arrived rapidly, having been on alert since the original invasion of the dead weeks earlier. At the front stood Captain Darvain. He expected nothing less from his men than he expected of himself. People often saw wizards as soft when it came to war. Nobody would ever accuse him of such. Though he had never served with the King’ army, he saw himself as no less a warrior, despite trading a sword and shield for spells.
His presence rallied his men, allowing them to face the hungry dead with pride and courage. Many of them, despite the ever present dead segregated within the city, had not battled the corpses, nor had they gone past the wall to engage, on Theondrin’s orders. Only the necromancers, and those chosen by Darvain, spent any time at all in their midst.
If given half a chance, he would’ve been a part of the war on the marches, back before they were even aware of the undead threat. His duties in the city had not allowed it. Theondrin had kept most of them out of the war, and the wizards practicing magic outside the wall were few in comparison to those residing here. There just wasn’t access to knowledge anywhere else. Magic took years to develop, and could never truly be mastered.
Standing with his troops, they incinerated the dead before they could even set foot outside of their quarantine. So far it was easy, though the numbers were starting to pick up. Their charred corpses piled up, forcing the dead behind them to climb over to reach the living.
They were faceless monsters. He didn’t see them as the people that they’d once been. That kind of thought made a soldier weak. He didn’t allow it in his men either. If it was a monster, you killed it, even if it looked like your granny.
He’d seen Theondrin return to his council earlier, at a distance, though he had not returned with his retinue. Only his apprentice had accompanied him. They were heavily cloaked against the cold of winter. He’d received the message telepathically, directly from Theondrin himself, to send men to arrest the four newest refugees. It all had to be related… the child had been there at the site of the first explosion. They’d locked her up and more explosions had taken out the wall.
As long as Theondrin was safe, that was all that mattered.
He hoped the archmage would return with the council. They were the ones with enough power to restore the wall. His soldiers did not possess such sorcery to pull up that much stone from the earth. Until then, they could throw fire for hours, but he hoped it didn’t come to that. The strong wind kept blowing smoke and the smell of charred flesh into his face. He had a strong constitution, but not all of his men were handling it as well as he could. Some had to be relieved until they got control of themselves.
The pile of corpses trembled. Even the burnt dead continued to crawl. A second retinue of soldiers stepped forward, using Spirit Sorcery to explode the heads of the dead. Gray brain matter and red gore painted the snow. The dead piled up too fast, and even with the flames, many of the corpses lived on, hidden in the snow, smoke, and bodies.
